Robert Asprin - Phule's Company

History has shown that, while soldiers can draw confidence and esprit de corps from such conviction, the same attitude in a commander can breed disaster.

Journal #152

[Note: The more numerically aware readers will have observed there are more entries than normal missing between this portion of my chronical and the last. While there were numerous interesting incidents and observations made during this period, they are not particularly pertinent to this account, and I have therefore withheld them to focus on the more crucial occurrences which followed. Perhaps, if time allows, I will publish some of those episodes at a later date, probably thinly disguised as fiction. For now, however, I will simply insert a brief summary of the two or three weeks following the competition.]

The Regular Army was apparently less than pleased with the Red Eagles' inability to achieve better than a tie against the Space Legion force under my employer's command. Then again, there is also the possibility that their new orders simply got lost in the shuffle of paper that is the bane of any organization of a size worthy of mention. For whatever reason, whether punishment or bureaucratic incompetence, the Red Eagles were not reassigned after the contracts were signed, but left to cool their heels for a while with us on Haskin's Planet. It is my hope that this was due to an oversight, for if punishment was the Army's intent, they failed dismally.

Despite the stormy nature of their initial introduction, the Eagles and the Legionnaires got on like a house afire. Between intro-unit dating and the inevitable bar crawling, the two groups drew even closer together and friendships grew and blossomed. (No reference need be made here of the methods of frequency of cross-pollination.)

The Red Eagles were particularly enamored of The Club which the Legionnaires called home, and soon were spending as much or more time there as they were at their own quarters. Of course, there is no doubt in my mind that the Legionnaires benefited greatly from this association, as the Eagles were more than happy to show off by sharing tips and pointers on the firing range and confidence course. There was also, as might be expected, a notable increase in interest among both groups in the fencing lessons which had been available all along.

Perhaps the most notable development during this period was that my employer finally felt satisfied that he had at least a passing knowledge of those under his command, and turned his attention to the job he should have been doing all along, which is to say administration. More and more he was willing to rely on his lieutenants to oversee the company's field operations while he filled his time managing things on a grander, more long-term basis.

Unfortunately this meant that he was not standing swamp duty with the company when, as they say, it hit the fan.

"Are you sure this guy can deliver the goods, C.H.?" Phule said impatiently, glancing at the door of the cocktail lounge for the twentieth' time. "If this turns out to be a waste of my time... "

"Don't fret yourself none, Cap'n," his supply sergeant said, desperately signaling the bartender for another round for his commander. "If my man says he's got 'em... he's got 'em. I just thought it would be best if the two of you met face-to-face before any money changed hands, is all."

The subject of this oblique discussion was knives. Harry claimed to have found a source who could supply them with a large quantity of the latest design in "action" knives, which was to say spring-loaded. These beauties were unusual in that not only did the blade emerge straight out of the handle at the touch of a button, as opposed to the more traditional switchblades which opened from the side like a jackknife, but if one held down the locking lever while triggering the blade, it would keep going, launched like a dart by the forty-pound spring that powered the mechanism. All in all, they were deadly little beasts. They were also illegal... hence the cloak-and-dagger approach to closing the deal.

Harry's connection had refused to come out to The Club to discuss the matter, but had agreed to meet them at their old watering hole, the Hotel Plaza lounge. Not surprisingly, the Legionnaires were well remembered at that establishment, and part of Phule's nervousness was that he was afraid their supplier would be scared off if Bombest or any of the rest of the hotel staff were talking to them when he arrived.

"How are things going with the inventory?" he inquired, more to make conversation than anything else. "Are you going to be ready by next week?"

"Ready anytime you are, Cap'n." The sergeant grinned. "Just be sure to wear one of your old uniforms. Physical inventories can get kinda dusty."

"Oh, I'm not going to be doing the audit."

"Yer not?" Harry scowled. "You mean my boys have been doin' all that prep work for nothin'?"

"Not exactly," the commander said. "I've asked Sushi to handle the first couple rounds with you."

"Sushi? Aw, c'mon, Cap'n. That's not exactly fair."

Sushi's partner, Do-Wop, had proved to be less than discreet when it came to bragging about his crony's criminal achievements. As a result, that notable's history as an embezzler was already legend throughout the company.

"Think of it as setting a poacher to catch a poacher, C.H." Phule smiled. "I figure he knows more about what to watch for than I do. Of course, I'll be spot-checking his work as well."

"But don't you think... Uh-oh. Here comes trouble."

Phule followed his sergeant's gaze. Chief Goetz had just entered the lounge and was making a beeline for their table.

"Just relax, Harry," he murmured. "Let's not be too eager to post bail until we're charged."

"Haw! Hey, that's a good one, Cap'n."

"Good afternoon, Willard... Sergeant." Goetz was standing over their table now. "Mind if I join you for a drink, or am I interrupting something?"

"As a matter of fact, Chief," Phule said, glancing pointedly at his watch, "we are waiting to meet someone."

Ignoring the hint, the policeman pulled up a chair and parked himself on it as if he had been invited.

"You know, it's funny you should mention that." He smiled, waving for the bartender. "We've got a guy down at the station, name of Weasel Honeycutt. Picked him up for questioning on a couple break-ins last night, and you know what? Instead of pushing for a lawyer like he usually does, what he wanted was for someone to come down here and tell you he wouldn't be able to meet with you today... and here I am, being a conscientious public servant. Would that, by any chance, be the appointment you were waiting for?"

"Uh..."

"Good. Then you've got time to have that drink with me, and maybe answer a few questions yourselves... like what's up between you and the Weasel?"

The last came out as a snarl, as Goetz abandoned his pleasant manner and glared at the two Legionnaires.

"He wanted to talk to the cap'n here about enlistin'," Harry answered quickly.

Phule barely managed to avoid choking on an ice cube.

"Enlisting?" The chief's eyebrows collided with his hairline. "I knew the Legion wasn't picky about whom they recruited, but don't you think that the Weasel is stooping a bit... even for you? I mean, you've already got one fence and black marketeer working for you."

He stared pointedly at Chocolate Harry, who shifted uneasily in his chair.

"Regulations require me to speak with anyone who expresses an interest in enlisting," Phule interceded smoothly. "One's pre-Legion history is unimportant to us. As you've so tactfully noted, we take anyone... we've even been known to accept ex-cops."

That earned a guffaw from the policeman, though the best Harry could manage was a weak smile.

"You got me there, Captain," Goetz acknowledged with a mock salute. "I don't think you'll get the Weasel, though. It would mean too much of a pay cut for him... unless you're supplementing his enlistment bonus personally, that is."